


Fire of madness

by Cirilla9



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Burning of the Ships at Losgar, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Curufin Has Daddy Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Guilt, Loyalty, Minor Character Death, Noldor are terrible people I don't know why I love them, Rationalization, accidental murder, and is a great son, less great as a brother, third party blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 22:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: Curufin at Losgar





	Fire of madness

Curufinwë listened from not afar as his oldest brother spoke to their father, keeping himself out of sight but not out of earshot.

"As we are safe on these shores now, would you send ships for the rest of our people? I think Fingon should be among them first, if not for his help, we would never-"

Curufinwë nearly rolled his eyes at Maitimo whining about Fingon.  Nothing could sabotage his plea as effectively as reminding father about his half-brother through mentioning Fingolfin’s eldest.

"His help? You mean the host that tarried miles behind us, showing off their reluctance to our quest to anyone that cared to look and see?"

Curufinwë didn’t need to see them clearly to imagine Maitimo’s jaw clenching.

"You are not fair. Fingon hastened them to join us faster."

"Not fast enough as it turned out.  If they were there, if Teleri saw our full strength maybe they would not keep the ships from us. Maybe the bloodshed could have been avoided… It’s all vain deliberation now. Perhaps it’s for the better. We don’t need them. We’ll follow our path alone, averse followers can be worse than open enemies."

"What are you saying?" Maitimo sounded anxious.

"I will not send the ships for them. And before you propose even more unreasonable course of action like splitting our forces, offering to go back for them yourself or try to do just so without my consent, I will make sure it will not happen. Burn the ships."

Last words were barely louder than the rest of their conversation but they carried clearly in the silent night air. The audible commotion run through the nearest crowd of subjects. Atarinkë wasn’t sure he heard it right himself, until Fëanáro repeated.

"Burn the ships!"

And when Maitimo recoiled, repulsed, turning his head away from their father’s already burning eyes; Curufinwë stepped forward in the light of the bonfire. He snatched a burning log. Feeling countless stares on him, he carried the torch to the nearest White Ship and put its blazing end to the inflammable, suffused with resin as a protection against water, wood.

It was only one pair of eyes that mattered to him and he felt the warmth of Fëanáro’s approving gaze on his back.

The wood took some time before the flames that were barely licking it started to consume it for real. Then Curufinwë retrieved, his face hot from the ember, and looked at his handiwork as the fire slowly started to devour Teleri’s piece of art.

More people followed his example, his brothers and their subjects as well. Only Maitimo stood lonely to the side as the crowd, more and more excited by Fëanáro’s encouraging speech that started to fall over them like an early spring rain, soon turned into a downpour, carried on the disastrous work.

Fëanáro spur them on, the fire that burned hot in his spirit affected them through his charming powerful words, as they brought the destruction upon Arda’s most beautiful fleet. The fire roared, brightening the night more than the stars shining above, illuminating the darkness as if Galathilion was brought to life once more for a short span of time. The flames swallowed the white wood hungrily, absorbed the snowy canvas of sails in quick outbursts of sparks, annihilated in the blink of an eye what Teleri were building for years.

Maitimo threw his torch in dark wrathful waters where it died with a hiss. At the other side of the see shore Fingon watched the glow coloring the western sky.

 

* * *

 

 

In what would normally be the early hours of Galathilion’s light if not for the Darkening brought by Morgoth, the sands of the beach were covered in ashes. Grey dust slowly washing away with Ulmo’s waters was all that remained after Teleri’s beautiful craftsmanship.

Curufinwë sat in the relative privacy of his tent and for once tried not to think but his restless mind would not obey him. It kept replaying the scenes from few hours ago for him and no amount of ships’ wreckages or accidentally burned skin of some of the subjects would ever horrify him as much as Ambarussa’s shattered expression when they’ve found the body…

The flap of the tent lifted and Makalaurë came in, carrying a bowl of water and a wet cloth. Curufinwë only eyeing the items thought that he did not wash after the burning and that his face was probably as ashen as the sand on the shore.

 "How’s Pityafinwë?" he asked in a small voice.

His older brother was silent for a while, setting the bowl next to where Curufinwë was sitting, concentrating on it far more than the simple task demanded. Just when Curufinwë thought we would have to repeat the question, Makalaurë answered him, equally quiet.

"Maitimo’s with him."

It was more of an evasion than a real answer but  Curufinwë guessed that was the most he would get from his older brother.

Makalaurë squeezed the cloth off the too much water and brought it to Curufinwë’s face. The younger Feanorion was about to snap at him to leave him be but the refreshment felt too nice to resign from it. He let his brother slowly swipe his face, keeping his chin tilted and eyes closed.

"Are you hurt somewhere?" asked Makalaurë.

Curufinwë let out a bitter laugh.

"No, cease to worry. Umbarto was the only one that took all the wounds for the seven of us it would seem."

"There is nothing funny about it. Do not think you can laugh it off like Tyelkormo does with everything."

Curufinwë’s eyes snapped open at that, he shoved away Makalaurë’s hand and his face twisted in anger, soon replaced by hurt.

"Do you think I do not know it? I keep seeing his charred skin with my eyes wide open, I dread the thought of going to sleep. And he was the only one to die there," Curufinwë was grinding the words out through clenched teeth. "Will you ever forgive me, brother?"

"You do not care about my forgiveness. The real question is whether you can forgive yourself."

Curufinwë bit his lip, sucked in a breath to calm himself enough to continue.

"Why, Makalaurë? Why him? Do the Valar hate us that much that they couldn’t take any other’s life but our little brother’s?"

"It’s not the Valar that are to blame, however you wish it to ease your conscience. You must know that. You saw how father looked there, you’ve heard his crazy words, his mad laugh-"

Curufinwë shot him a vicious look.

"Get out."

Makalaurë hesitated.

"Get out! Go to Pityo, he needs you more. Leave me alone."

 

* * *

 

 

Lights of the stars reflected in the black still water of the ocean when Curufinwë crossed the beach, heading to the more rocky part of the shore, where he’d seen the lonely silhouette, a darker shadow cut in the dark of the constant night that fell upon their world.

He tried to walk as soundlessly as Tyelkormo did move but the other must have heard him anyway.

"Curvo?" asked his father’s voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I join you?"

Fëanáro turned his head slightly away as Curufinwë came closer. The quick motion of the hand upon his face could as well brush away the strand of hair that fell into his eyes as be a gesture of wiping off the tears. Curufinwë did not comment, as he sat down next to his father and looked in the same dark distance of the sea rather than at his parent.

It was Fëanáro who broke the silence first.

"We must be going soon. Otherwise we’ll lose the element of surprise toward the Enemy."

Curufinwë did not say that the fire was probably seen in Angamando as well.

"Tyelkormo cannot wait," was all he settled for. "And many of our people are impatient too."

"And you?"

"I will do as you say. Wait or set off immediately."

"Yes, but what do you think, Curufinwë?"

There was a strained edge to his father’s voice that did not belonged there. Fëanáro has always been clever with words. Curufinwë heard more in his question than the current decision they discussed so he answered more broadly also.

"I wish to see all your dreams fulfilled, I wish we defeat Morgoth, avenge grandfather’s death and retrieve the Silmarils. I wish to see the vast lands of Beleriand clear of Morgoth’s taint, lands free of imposing rule of the Valar. I wish to see the world you described to us and I know that you can achieve it."

Curufinwë was surprised to feel his father’s hand embrace his shoulders warmly but soon he relaxed into the hold and let his head fall on Fëanáro’s shoulder.

"I’m so happy to have you, Curufinwë. I don’t know what I’d do if it was you today…" Fëanáro’s voice caught. "I cannot lose you."

"You will not. I will always be at your side," assured him Curufinwë.

 


End file.
